


Surrender

by Azazel_Shaaryn



Series: Destiny [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destiny, Gotham City is Terrible, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Instability, Pre-Relationship, Understanding, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22492807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azazel_Shaaryn/pseuds/Azazel_Shaaryn
Summary: There are many kinds of surrender, some worst than others. He isn't sure which one is here.Prequel toBitter truths.
Relationships: Batman/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU) & Batman, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Destiny [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616557
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Surrender

He was going to lose. To be in a difficult situation was nothing new, he had known despair in so many ways already. But this … to be so severely outnumbered, outsmarted even, was a surprise. He wasn’t really surprised by anything lately, it could have felt good. It just felt wrong.

No one apart from the Joker had put him in situations of this kind, and even then, they always seemed to know which line couldn’t be crossed. The threshold of pain was something, the line between life and death another.

The other members of his Rogue gallery had established rules between themselves years ago in an old-fashioned way of thinking. Batman knew for every of them which subjects to avoid and which to push on. And they knew too which lines they couldn’t cross. Then again, the Joker had cruelly pushed them in his prime.

Criminals were different now and crimes had changed too, the choregraphed games of the old times weren’t done anymore. New villains had no care for who they fought with and how, it was just about victory no matter its cost, or its savor. Often no goals apart from money.

The sharp sound of a heavy weapon being fired took him out of his thoughts but he felt the impact before he saw it coming. It shredded the upper part of his armor and took his breath away, pushing him down to one knee.

Had it struck a little lower he would have had broken ribs and pierced lungs to take care of. As it was, it had hit the heavily reinforced part protecting his throat and upper chest, and badly stunned him.

Before he could gather himself and go for cover, a fist struck the side of his head below a cowl ear. At the same time an arm hooked under his chin and pulled it back. The glint of a blade was his only warning, he shrunk back into his assailant but not before the weapon cut at his throat.

The villain laughed behind him, taking a few steps back to walk around and face him. He didn’t even have a name – so few of them did now – nothing in particular to distinguish him and donned in a black non-descript army garb, a simple hood on his head.

He could feel the warm gush of blood on his throat and the faintness that came with it. He needed to run and take cover. A quick glance around showed that almost twenty men were still on their feet, their leader slightly closer as he went to admire his work.

An imperceptibly shaking hand went to his belt in the few seconds it took for the man to face him and seized a smoke bomb. A second later the room was in chaos and Batman took his graplin to get to and jump through a window of the warehouse they were in.

The impact of the glass breaking and the clumsy landing definitely took his breath away. One hand tried to keep pressure on the wound, his armor and the position making it a difficult task. He could feel himself slipping slowly into darkness as he grunted in his effort to straighten himself and walk away. He couldn’t afford to use the graplin gun again, he wouldn’t be able to keep hold of it while airborne.

A long and agonizing minute later he entered an old abandoned building and let himself slide on the wall he had used to keep himself upright. Every breath hurt and seemed to make the wound on his throat wider. He realized in a chilling thought that he may not survive this.

Some years ago he would have easily, simply because he wasn’t alone. A call to Alfred or Barbara and help would have been on its way. Now. He was alone and it was going to cost him his life. What a joke.

His eyes were heavy. He felt incredibly tired. When was the last time he slept ? Not a two hour nap between tasks but a real night, in a bed ?

No ! He wasn’t supposed to sleep, he needed to fight this. To do something.

He couldn’t remember why he needed to fight this. Maybe … maybe he could close his eyes … just a minute … … …

°°°

To say that the Joker was angry would be an understatement. He was absolutely furious. To create such beautiful chaos for the bat and not see him appear was infuriating. To learn that it was because he was fighting a no-name on the other side of the city was maddening. _Ha ! Maddening._ He was going to make sure the man knew where his priorities where and it was going to hurt. It was an act of love. You didn’t stand up your other half after all, that was just bad form.

A call to Cobblepot and a quick conversation later and he had an address. Some would say it had been more threats than conversation but it wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t handle a few jokes. The Penguin had become more and more boring as time went on and he kept to the Iceberg Lounge now.

The only good thing about it was that he made sure to know who went in and out of the city and why. He kept a close eye on the new blood, conscious that they were completely uncaring of the “rules” and able to do business with him just as they were to make his club go boom with him inside.

While a good explosion was always funny, and a little damage sometimes couldn’t be helped, the new ones just didn’t understand that some things weren’t done. For example go too far with the bat and the Joker would pay you a little visit you would never forget. Well more like the last thing you would remember but hey _potato-potahto_. He laughed. The Bat was his. Everyone knew that but these little unimaginative morons.

When he finally got to it, the warehouse loomed above him. No use in going inside as the front doors were wide open and let him see traces of a scuffle already finished. A quick walk around and he found a nice batshaped hole in a high window as well as a splatter of blood on the ground not too far from it. He giggled, excitement rising a little. This was just like a game of cat and mouse, wasn’t it ? Maybe they still could have fun tonight !

He rounded the corner of a nearby alley trying to keep his giggles as quiet as possible while keeping an eye on the rooftops. _His bat was just the kind of man to jump on a lady without warning after all !_

“Hey, didn’t you hear something ?”

“Nah it’s paranoia man, a rat or something.”

“Yeah well this place gives me the fucking creeps, why do we have to go looking if he’s dead. The boss got him good, I doubt even he could survive an open throat. We should leave it alone.”

Well, that wasn’t funny at all. These children should know better. Anger rose like a wave and he let his body follow it, his arm flowing in a nice arc as he threw knives at the two men. One died instantly, the blade had nicely found its place in his forehead. The other cursed as another hit the shoulder used to handle his weapon. The clown was in his face and holding a knife to his throat before he could recover.

“Telling lies isn’t very nice, is it ? I’ll tell you what’s nice … it’s a smile ! Want me to help you with that ? Look at that !” He said while pointing at his face. “I have the nicest of them all !”

He smiled grotesquely, stretching his mouth to the furthest point humanly possible. The goon paled considerably but kept wisely silent, aware of the blade digging at his throat.

“What were you saying to your little friend ? You can tell me … I’m a good listener.”

He bared his teeth at him, savoring the terror reeking from his body. The man shook slightly as he answered.

“Batman is … dead ?”

The Joker laughed, a haunting sound.

“No no stupid not that one, that one’s a lie, you’re just too new to know how it goes yet, not that you will live long enough to learn if your answer isn’t what I’m asking for.”

“The boss … slit … he slit his throat ?” It was phrased more like a question than anything else.

“Yes that was it ! So now, you and I we’re friends, aren’t we ?”

The man didn’t dare move.

“I thought so too. You know what good friends do for each other ?” When silence answered him, he dug his blade until the man carefully shook his head to say no. “They share experiences !”

By the time he finished his sentence, the blade had made its course and opened a nice red river on the man throat. There. That was funny. Shiny, wet blood always made everything better after all, added a little color to these pale, boring flesh bags.

Now to find his playmate. Where had the bat ran to ?

Well, finding him had been easy enough in the end. A little blood here, a little blood there and bam ! Gotham favorite beast crumpled on the ground of an empty, decrepit building.

He couldn’t decide if the sight made him joyous – and what a sight ! The unwavering creature, vulnerable in a shiny red coat – or just plain murderous. People were so stupid really, what about chaos ? Real, unending chaos ? It had to have its balance, an opposition. You weren’t really free if there was nothing be free of ! They just couldn’t let go of those pesky morals that made concepts so rigid.

And Batman should know better than to get caught like this, this no-name should have known better too. You didn’t hurt this way something that wasn’t yours to keep.

Well, it was never too late to learn after all.

He rummaged through the bat belt, tsiking all the while. He knew the man obsession with order made him keep his toys in the same place. It was easy enough to unearth some gauze and a clear viscous liquid he knew kept wounds closed. It made him wonder if Batman hadn’t let himself go a little too easily.

Laughter should have come to him, it was always there. But here, in the face of something quite hilarious – the bat, in the ruins of Gotham, bleeding out, maybe even from despair – nothing. It was what he always wanted to obtain, to make him see, to make him understand he could never win because he wasn’t fighting but dancing in an ouroboros. That he should just … let go. But it wasn’t supposed to go like that.

And now, the cherished victory felt like defeat. In a game he hadn’t even participated in.

It felt like worms eating at his insides, quivering and running under his skin. Colors seemed to bleed out of the world in an unbearable escape. What was Gotham without the Dark Knight, what was the Joker without Batman, chaos without order ?

He patched him up – not before licking some of the blood from his skin, every task needed its reward – and dragged him to the closest hideout he knew was still furnished by Harley. That girl was just too funny. She spat in his face when she saw him, didn’t want anything to do with his schemes anymore but kept breaking in his places to fill the closets with food and medical supplies.

He turned back to the bat-man, supplies in hand and smiled a little at the sight. If the situation was anything else, it would be too good to be true. Him ! Haphazardly laying down on the floor of one of the Joker’s secret places. It would be even better in other circumstances, an idea to think over later. Now, to work.

°°°

Opening his eyes was … surprising. If he let himself be honest, maybe even disappointing. He was so goddamn tired, Gotham and her children were monstrous little things and he could do nothing against it. When he began his crusade, justice and vengeance made his blood roar, his fists fill with purpose. Now, almost two decades into it made it hard to feel anything. It was just the Mission and the beast it animated.

This city couldn’t be saved because it didn’t want to. Her soul ate at her people, made them as dark as she was. For a villain stopped two more took his place and his purpose. All he could do was fight and fight again in an unending, useless circle of violence.

His eyes roamed the ceiling they were fixed on, laying on the floor as he was. This wasn’t the place where he had fallen unconscious. He got up, a little painfully, when a flutter near his chest attracted his attention. He froze. Flying to the ground near his feet, a joker card taunted him with its smile and sheer presence. He took it in hand, careful to not let any part touch his skin – you never knew with the Joker – and flipped it over. There was a small message in a spidery handwriting.

_Do that again and_

_Gotham dies with you_

_\- xoxoxo, J._

A painful, bitter laugh escaped him. Who else in his life had been dedicated enough to threaten him into living ? His children and apprentices were to young and then to angry to do so, his allies feared him too much to even think it was necessary. Selina could have but she hadn’t been able to bear what his life really was and one day disappeared, stealing a part of him on the way.

It always went back to this in the end. The Joker. His infuriating laugh and cruelty. The only one he never really pinned down. The only one who could still awaken something inside him that wasn’t the Mission. The only one he could trust to never leave.

He felt something sag. Maybe … maybe he should let himself twist the game a little, change the rules. The Joker certainly wouldn’t be against it, knowing him. He carefully slipped the card in one of the pouches on his belt and finally looked around.

On the far side of the room, facing him, dangled a body. It was the man he had fought with earlier – whenever earlier was – and lost to. Covered in blood, he was attached to the ceiling by a cord that cut into the wide wound opening him from ear to ear. He could see on the wall behind it, that the Joker had tagged another message, not addressed to him this time.

**_Learn how to play the game children or pay the price ! HaHaHaHaHa_ **

He realized with startling clarity that he didn’t care. He should be horrified. He felt nothing. He caught himself thinking that it was par for the course. This was the Joker and it looked pretty tame when you thought about it. He didn’t even want to cut down the body.

When he turned his back to it, leaving with a hand closing on his own patched up wound … it felt like surrender.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that got dark pretty quick. I was hoping for something a little less dramatic but I felt like this was coherent with the first one universe. It's not because it is that it's necessarily pretty. I got another idea for a third piece, bigger and based this time on their interactions after that, the ones that caused Nightwing's intervention. We’ll see how it goes.  
> I'll probably try something lighter in another series because this one seized me as something a little dark.


End file.
